When I tuned into this movie, expecting another rehash of the Holocaust, I was not prepared for what came next. The beginning of the film, masterfully depicted as an action sequence, was grippingly realistic as a faction of South Afrikaaners (c. 1993) move in to slaughter as many residents of a black township as they can. They are shockingly met by an equally fervent group of black urban guerrillas who, almost to a man, slaughter them. One survivor is brutally massacred in a pyre of gasoline. Another seeks sanctuary in a black church and this is where the story really begins.
The portrayal of two equally poisonous hatreds bursts from the screen and, slowly, we see bits and pieces of ourselves in their pitiable yet sadly understandable biases, deeply rooted in decades of oppression, resentment and bitterness. As different individuals vent on their personal histories and resulting convictions, the relentlessly ensuing tale of mindless rationalization, family history, and, perhaps, ultimate salvation, is as moving as anything I have ever witnessed on the screen; a metamorphosis as compelling as it is surprising.
I can't believe that there is someone out there who hasn't experienced at least some of the moral dichotomies and quandaries that this film so exquisitely portrays.
Sit back, ponder, and be amazed at this movie.
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